


head full of dreams

by HazelGray



Series: musically inclined [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, M/M, Multi, Music!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5441294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelGray/pseuds/HazelGray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire's first week at a new school and already he's had an encounter with a musical-theatre-obsessed blond asshole, auditioned for a Battle of the Bands and committed to writing an original song just in time for the first round of the competition...what could go wrong?</p>
<p>or, the high school au full of music no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. heaven knows

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is the first chapter of many. For your reference, I will always put the songs sung in the chapter at the beginning. I always choose the songs based on what I think the characters' sound would be!
> 
> Eponine:  
> Heaven Knows, The Pretty Reckless
> 
> Cosette:  
> Be Good, Emily Kinney
> 
> Grantaire:  
> This, Ed Sheeran (George Blagden cover)
> 
>  
> 
> Obviously I don't own any of these songs.

Grantaire was excellent at many things, but staying awake in his senior level government class was not one of them. Mr. Javert was incessantly boring and the subject in itself wasn’t exactly his forte. Slouching in his oversized hoodie, he met eyes with Jehan Prouvaire- artist and poetic extraordinaire. Jehan was furiously scribbling on a piece of colorful paper. Jehan was one of the people who made the hellish nightmare some call high school at least somewhat manageable. They had been loose acquaintances since Grantaire had started at this new school, about two weeks ago. Besides his crazy neighbor, Jehan was the only one he really knew.

The bell rang, and Grantaire rose from his seat. The smaller boy walked up to him, handing him the paper Grantaire saw him scribbling on. Jehan grinned and said, “I’m in a band. I don’t know you very well, but I was thinking you might like to come and watch us audition for this big music competition.”

Grantaire laughed at the drawings of his band. He pointed to the lead singer. “Is that-“

“The lead singer is Eponine Thenardier,” he grinned. “She’s crazy talented.”

“That’s my neighbor,” Grantaire grins. “So you guys are who I hear practicing all the time.”

Jehan smiles. “Oh, you’re the new recluse neighbor!” Realizing his mistake, he flushed. “Sorry. Eponine has talked about you though.”

Grantaire smirks. “It’s fine, Jehan. She's cool." He looks at the flyer again. Auditions are after school. He thinks about his father's guitar, lying on his bed at home. "Sure, Jehan. I'd love to hear you guys play." His smile is infectious and Grantaire finds himself looking forward to the school day ending (more so than usual.)

 

 

...

 

Grantaire and his mother moved just outside of Charleston, South Carolina two weeks ago. The town was tiny, with nothing much to do except eat at one of the two fast food joints. Of course, there was always the Strip, fondly named by the locals. The historic street was full of shops and apartments, and most importantly, Cafe Musain. It was the one good thing about this shitty, shity town, Grantaire thought to himself. And he was thinking about their coffee when he collided with something solid on his way to the auditorium. 

It wasn't just something solid. It was human. A nice looking human. Grantaire looked up to see curly blond hair, and an angry expression on a handsome face.

"Can you watch where you're going?" He grunted. Grantaire hopped back.

"I'm sorry, man, I just-"

"Are you lost?" The guy asked, eyes widening a little. Grantaire nodded, handing him Jehan's flyer. When the guy in the red polo shirt read it, he rolled his eyes. "Seriously? You're one of these people?'

Grantaire glared. "What do you mean by that?"

The guy sighed. "Just that the theatre shouldn't be defaced by such bawdy acts as that. No one ever comes to the auditorium for the drama department, but for a bunch of grungy rock bands? Sign them up!" He dropped his head, muttering about funding and the superintendent. He looked back up. "If you're smart, you won't even get involved in this thing. Have a little self respect."

Wow, this guy was rude. Grantaire said wryly, "I think I'm good. Thanks for the advice though." He waved him off, making his way into what he assumed what the auditorium.

Yep. Shitty, shitty town.

 

...

 

Eponine’s band was the first audition. Jehan waved at Grantaire from the keyboard. Grantaire gave a half-hearted wave and sat in a cushioned auditorium seat. A dark, curly headed guy was behind the drum kit, making goofy faces at the bassist from behind his drumsticks. Eponine, looking as badass as ever in her dark and ripped clothing, grinned from behind her electric guitar. Grantaire half wondered what their name was, because they certainly were a mismatched bunch. If a heavy metal singer joined forces with a comedian, professor, and small statured long haired guy wearing a floral sweater, what kind of music would that create? Of course, he knew the answer to this question due to their loud rehearsals. Eponine smirked at the scattered audience, and the head of the music department, Jean Valjean.

“Yeah, uh, we’re Coffee and Cigarettes, and we’ll be singing an original song called Heaven Knows.” Jehan coughed a little. Eponine rolled her eyes and added half-heartedly, “The name is a work in progress.” He coughed a little more. “Fine,” she hissed, “Lyrics by Jehan Prouvaire.” He grinned triumphantly.

The drummer counted them off, and they launched into their song. Hearing the song in a room with actual acoustics did wonders for it, he had to admit.

“ _Jimmy's in the back with a pocket of high, if you listen close, you can hear him cry. Oh Lord, heaven knows we belong way down below…_ ” Eponine sang out, her gritty voice filling the auditorium. “ _Judy's in the front seat picking up trash, living on the dole. Gotta make that cash,won't be pretty, won't be sweet, she's just sittin' here on her feet…_ ” It was hard to imagine Jehan singing this kind of music, but it all worked. All of them were incredibly passionate about the music, and the whole sound was honestly enchanting. Grantaire, despite not knowing what to expect, found himself enjoying it immensely.

When the song ended, the few people in the auditorium burst into uproarious applause. So did Grantaire. Eponine grinned and went to sit beside him.

“So why are you here?” She asked. “Here to audition?” He gave her an odd look. She raised her eyebrows. “You know I can see straight into your room, right? I see you playing and singing all the time.”

Grantaire flushed and snipped, “First off, rude. Second, I don’t even have my guitar with me. Jehan invited me.”

Eponine glared. “Well, sorry for the suggestion…thought you knew about the prize money.”

He turned to face her. “What prize money?”

She snorted. “The winner of the third round of Battle of the Bands wins $5,000. And a recording contract with Valjean’s friend’s label.”

Grantaire can’t believe he hadn’t heard this part. He was only distracted when a tiny blonde girl stepped onstage with a bedazzled guitar. She cleared her voice, smiling earnestly.

“My name is Cosette, and I’ll be singing a song I wrote called “Be Good.” She smiled and Eponine gaped.

“Seriously?’ Eponine grunted. “We all just lost. That’s Valjean’s daughter…”

“ _It’s unclear now what we intend, we’re alone in our own world. You don’t want to be my boyfriend, I don’t wanna be your girl…_ ” Cosette sang earnestly, all sweet eyes and simple melody. “ _And that’s a relief, we’ll drink up our grief, and pine for summer…”_

The rest of the auditions went the same way. Everyone would get onstage, introduce themselves, and sing a song. The only few to really stand out were a trio called JBM, who had an interesting folk-y sounding sound with three guitars, another solo act named Marius, who sounded vaguely like Michael Buble, and (Grantaire’s personal favorite) Montparnesse, who put every punk band out of business with his suggestive song.

After the final act, Valjean stood up. “Do we have anyone else here who would like to audition?” Eponine nudged him firmly in the side. He coughed, and took a leap of faith.

“I don’t, uh…” he muttered as he stood. “I don’t have a guitar with me, but I’d like to audition.”

Valjean shrugged and motioned to someone in the front row. “Go get one from backstage.” And up stood the asshole from earlier who had gone on an angry tirade. Grantaire rolled his eyes, but carefully walked to the stage.

“Here,” the guy, holding out a very old guitar. Grantaire grabbed the guitar. It wasn’t exactly shitty; it just wasn’t like his at home. He strummed for a second, then cleared his throat. The song wasn’t particularly meaningful to him, and it didn’t have some deep meaning, but it was easy to play, and easy to sing.

He launched into the first verse. “ _This is the start of something beautiful. This is the start of something new…_ ”

Valjean gave an appreciative nod. Eponine, too, was smiling from ear to ear, an odd expression on someone usually so deadpan. Grantaire took this as a sign to keep going.

“ _And I’ll throw it all away, and watch you fall into his arms again. And I’ve thrown it all away, watched you fall now…You are the Earth that I will stand upon. You are the words that I will sing…_ ” He gained strength as the song went on, watching as the bands scattered around the auditorium became immersed in the song. When Grantaire finished the song, awkwardly holding his hands around the beaten guitar, everyone erupted into applause.

Valjean smiled, then leaned into the mic positioned on the table in front of him. “You’re quite talented, Mr. Grantaire,” he smiled kindly. “But you are aware of competition rules?” Grantaire stared, straight-faced.

"How many rules can a battle of the bands have?” He muttered.

“Well, you see,” Valjean began. “You must enter with an original song. Unless your last name is Sheeran…” Chuckles rang out in the auditorium, especially from the lone blond singer he encountered earlier, the one who politely informed him of the merits of musical theater over anything else. Grantaire shrugged.

Valjean looked down at the list of auditions. “Tell you what. Have an original song prepared by the first round of the competition. I’ll let you compete.”

The blond stood up in outrage. “Mr. Valjean-“

“Enjolras, you may be the stage manager but you don’t own the auditorium. I can bend the rules if I want,” Valjean said, forcefully but not unkindly. So that was his name. Enjolras. He sat down huffily.

Grantaire rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s…I’ll do it. Yeah. See ya.” He stepped down off of the stage, shocked. He didn’t actually think he’d get in. Eponine and her band, all the people with the C names, ran to greet him.

“R, you were great!” Ep grinned, punching his shoulder lightly. “I didn’t know you wrote songs. Why haven’t you played me any?”

Grantaire grinned sheepishly. “Because I don’t actually write any?”

Ep cackled manically. “Well, you better get on it, Sheeran.”

Grantaire glared at his next door neighbor. One of the band members with the C name waved to the blond- Enjolras, Grantaire reminded himself- and walked over to meet him. “What’s his deal?” Grantaire asked, assuming Eponine would know. And she did.

She grinned and whispered, “That, my friend, is the raging crusader of all things Broadway. He’s been in every school musical since birth. He hates this whole battle of the bands thing. Thinks rock is a little…below him,” she snickered. Grantaire nodded in understanding.

“You guys sounded great too,” He added, as if he couldn’t hear them practicing at all hours of the night from Eponine’s garage. The drummer grinned and wrapped an arm around him.

“Thanks...Grantaire, is it?” he smiled, then winked. Grantaire was taken aback, but played along but pulling him a little closer.

“Courfeyrac, how about you stop flirting with everyone within a mile of you,” the bassist rolled his eyes. “Please and thank you.” Courfeyrac unwrapped himself from Grantaire and sighed. “I forgot…no fraternizing with the enemy.”

Eponine smiled and looked at Grantaire. “Let the battle rage on. See ya later?” Grantaire nodded.

While walking to his car, he had the realization that round one would be occurring in exactly one week. Why did he let Eponine talk him into this?


	2. lost stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs used this chapter. What I would recommend is looking these songs up, because they are honestly FANTASTIC! 
> 
>  
> 
> Grantaire:  
> Lost Stars, Adam Levine
> 
>  
> 
> Enjolras:  
> Falling Slowly (Aaron Tveit and Laura Osnes)

* * *

 

Sitting at the dinner table, Grantaire takes a large gulp of his ice water, not looking his mother in the eye. Her dark, curly hair is piled into a bun on her head, the bags under her eyes aging her prematurely. She was young when she had Grantaire, not a few days past nineteen. And as for Grantaire’s father…

His mom coughed. “How has school been? You like it alright?”

He shrugged. “It’s going alright.” Grantaire took a bite of the casserole. “I, uh. I auditioned for something today.” 

He heard his mom’s fork clatter to her plate. “For what?” She gaped. 

“It’s just this thing. Called the Battle of the Bands. Apparently they do it every year. You know our neighbors? Their daughter Eponine talked me into it.” 

At the mention of Eponine, his mom smiled. “She seems like a nice girl.”

“She’s alright,” Grantaire said, looking down. “Thanks for dinner,” he muttered, putting his plate in the sink and sulking upstairs. The boxes were still piled high, and Grantaire was happy to ignore them. He opened the door to his room, glancing at the mess. The navy walls were still bare, Grantaire’s posters and art safely tucked away in a cardboard box. The full sized bed had a rumpled white comforter, new from Rooms to Go or some other chain. He snorted at the thought of anything white in his room. It wouldn’t stay clean for long.

The well-kept but aged guitar case sat next to the window. He grabbed it, opening it up and taking the black guitar in his hands. Strumming, he heard something loud hit his window. Chalking it up to the gusty afternoon, he kept playing around with chords, trying to make something stick. He heard it again.

Turning in his bed, he faced the window. Peeking through the blinds, he saw a frantic Eponine, grinning with a few pebbles in her hand. It was true—their windows did face each other, like a cheesy taylor Swift music video. She motioned for him to open the window, and he complied, wondering what she was up to.

“Grantaire,” she whisper-yelled across the distance between the two windows. “Want to help me with something?”

He furrowed his brow. “Um…can you be more specific?”

Eponine rolled her eyes. “I’m coming over.” She shut the window loudly, and Grantaire sighed as went back to the living room, where he heard Eponine’s knock. His mom was watching the news, and Grantaire just said, “Eponine is here to study.” His mom probably wouldn’t have cared either way, but he felt better with a proper excuse.

Eponine looked odd without her usual make up. Younger, maybe. “So, R,” she smiled, as he led her to his room, unsure of what exactly she wanted. “I have a proposition.”

“I’m, uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck.

She laughed. “Not like that. I’m talking about music. Have you started on your song yet?” 

He laughed sardonically. “Actually, I’m just kind of waiting for something to hit me. Literally.” Grantaire led Eponine into his room. He ignored her snort of derision at the boxes. 

“I would ask if I could make myself at home, but it doesn’t even seem like you have.”

He laughed and sat on the bed. Eponine touched his guitar case, eyeing the black Gibson on his bed. “You have a really nice guitar,” she said. 

“Thanks,” he said, refraining from bringing his dad up. Eponine grabbed the guitar case, inspecting it closely.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to look into getting a new one…” she muttered, fooling around with the inner casing. Grantaire let her be, going to grab some school work from his backpack. Eponine had yet to declare her true reason for commandeering his evening. The least he could do is give the impression of busyness. 

“Liar!” She shrieked. “You said you didn’t write songs!”

Grantaire looked at her. “I don’t. What are you on about?”

Eponine, with a smug look on her face, pulled a worn out notebook from out of nowhere. “I found your notebook in the guitar case. It’s full of lyrics and chords. Why did you act like you hadn’t ever written before?”

He frowned, looking down. “I haven’t…that’s probably my— “

“These are really good, R,” she said, awestruck. “Especially this last one. It’s dated a few years back. You’ve been writing for a long time.”

He sat beside her, the familiar handwriting the source of the lump in his throat. “Yeah, uh...it’s my dad’s guitar case. He was a musician. These are all his.”

“He must be crazy talented,” Eponine muttered. “Can I try to play this one?” The song in question was called Lost Stars. Grantaire had vague memories of hearing it being played at some restaurant. The chords were scribbled all along the sides. “I’m not sure of the melody, but we can figure it out.”

She cracks her knuckles and without warning grabs Grantaire’s guitar and begins strumming. He closes his eyes, knowing exactly what song this was. Eponine was right. It was one of his father’s best.

“ _Please don’t see just a boy caught up in dreams and fantasy_ ,” Grantaire vocalized, the melody coming back to him after all this time. Eponine grinned, and kept strumming, following the chords written in the little black book. “ _Please see me, reaching out for someone I can’t see._ _Take my hand, let's see where we wake up tomorrow_ _, best laid plans sometimes are just a one-night stand. I'll be damned, Cupid's demanding back his arrow, so let's get drunk on our tears…_ ”

He stopped singing, and Eponine frowned. “This is really good, R.” She looked down. “There are probably so many good songs in here.” He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. “You know…you might not have to write a single song this entire competition. Your dad clearly isn’t famous. No one knows these songs. They might as well be yours.” 

“No, no, no…” Grantaire began. “I can’t do that.”

She grinned. “Oh, yes you can! You are so going to win this thing. Your ticket to winning is sitting right here. It’s a sign from the gods! Take it!”

Grantaire sat perfectly still, considering what she was saying. “I don’t know…”

“Do it. Come on.” She flipped through the small notebook, skimming the lyrics. “There’s one called Hymn for the Weekend. Up and Up. Harlem. And wow, this one is called Hallelujah. This is lyric gold right here. You could seriously win with this stuff,” she smiled softly.

“You are aware that you’re potentially sabotaging your own group?”

She threw her head back and laughed. “I don’t think the world is ready for a Coffee and Cigarettes with meaningful lyrics.”

“Don’t tell Jehan,” he muttered, and Eponine laughed again. 

Maybe this town wasn’t that shitty, he thought to himself as he and Eponine laughed together. Maybe this time would be different.

 

* * *

 

The next time Grantaire runs into Enjolras, its by complete accident. He was searching for the art room for his afternoon free period, and found himself backstage during a theatre class. While stumbling around, trying to find the exit, he hears him talking from onstage.

“Molly, since you have callbacks on Monday, do you want to come practice with me?” He says genially, although it could be because Grantaire is nowhere in sight.

A strawberry blonde marches onstage, flipping her hair, shaking in her tights and penny loafers. Grantaire sneaks a peek around the heavy black curtain. Enjolras is sitting at the piano next to her, lightly brushing the keys with his fingertips. He nods to her before playing a lilting tune.

He starts off, singing lowly, “ _I don't know you. But I want you all the more for that…_ ”

Grantaire’s jaw drops. His voice…it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. The small girl smiles and joins in, their harmony perfectly in sync. “ _Words fall through me and always fool me, and I can't react…”_

They keep singing, pushing toward the dynamic chorus, where Grantaire is once again stunned by Enjolras’ talent. It has to be the prettiest song he has ever heard. His breath is taken away as the go into the chorus again, the harmony interlaced beautifully and Enjolras’ low timber reverberating around the spacious auditorium. Even when he goes into falsetto, Grantaire is certain that he is the most talented person he has ever encountered.

“ _Take this sinking boat and point it home_ _, we've still got time. Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice, you've made it now. Falling slowly sing your melody, I'll sing along…”_

He and Molly finished up their song, smiling as the class clapped. Enjolras stood and patted her on the back, launching into an in depth explanation (or, re-explanation, if the looks on the students faces mean anything) about the play and the direction the student director is taking it in.

Grantaire slips out the back, and by the time he actually reaches the art classroom, his breathing still isn’t regulated.


	3. this is war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to keep the lyric-y stuff to minimum for this chapter but man, I really enjoyed picking out each person’s individual sound and song for this first round.
> 
> Grantaire:  
> Lost Stars, Adam Levine
> 
> Cosette:  
> This is War, Emily Kinney
> 
> Eponine:  
> Wicked Ones, Dorothy
> 
> Montparnesse:  
> Lying Is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off (Acoustic), Panic! At The Disco

 

The school week passed by in a blur. The only bright spots were the brief encounters with Enjolras, who always waved at him in the hallway. Sure, he was overly opinionated and stuck on certain things, but he was an attractive individual. The weirdest part was, however, how he could always be seen with the two musicians from Eponine’s band. Courfeyrac and whoever the other guy was were always seen by his side, joking and laughing about something.

Despite Grantaire’s musing (and his mother’s insistence on being present at the stupid thing), the first round of the battle of the bands arrived suddenly and stressfully, as R truly began to understand what he had signed up for.

 **What do you mean the whole school will be there?** He texted Eponine the day of the competition.

 **Yeah this thing is huge. It’s an honor Valjean let you in last minute.** **–E**

Grantaire sighed, grabbing his guitar and looking at himself in the mirror. Dark, unruly hair. Green eyes. His red plaid was rumpled and faded. Grantaire figured it was as good as it was going to get. As an afterthought, he grabbed a beanie, shoving it over his curls in hopes they would chill out before he had to sing. Pocketing the tiny notebook of songs, he took a deep breath. This would all turn out okay.

\---

This will not turn out okay.

Backstage was all aflutter with the various acts moving and setting up and warming up. Enjolras was manning the curtains, but at the moment he was muttering fiercely to a terrified freshman about lights and sound. Grantaire, not sure where to begin (or even what the night’s performance order was) sat and began to strum the chords to his song. Well, his father’s song.

“ _I thought I heard you out there crying, I thought I heard you call my name…_ ” He sang quietly. That was his favorite part of the song. There was something about bridges that always got to him.

“That sounds really nice,” someone said above him. R looked up. Enjolras.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “It’s uh, what I’m singing tonight.” 

Enjolras gave a nod of understanding. “Well, it sounds great.”

“I thought you hated this kind of thing,” Grantaire said, grinning. “It’s not exactly a musical.”

Enjolras furrowed his eyebrows, saying, “Just because it isn’t my taste doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate someone else’s talent.” He sighed. “Besides, my turn is coming up soon. We’re having a big theatre showcase next month before school gets out for summer break. We’ve been working hard all year on it. I hope we get even half of these numbers tonight.”

Grantaire looked at him. “You’re crazy talented. I’m sure you’ll get some.” Realizing his dual mistake, he flushed and looked away.

Enjolras laughed, loud and hearty and echoing. “How do you know I’m talented?” He knocked his shoulder playfully into R’s.

“I heard you the other day. Singing with…Molly,” he said.

“Molly,” Enjolras laughed. “That’s Marius’s girlfriend. She’s interesting. Talented, but interesting. I’m guessing you heard Falling Slowly?”

As nice as the small talk was, Eponine (in all of her blazing glory) decided it would be the perfect moment to have an absolute meltdown. “Grantaire!” She cried out, her black dress barely past the tops of her thighs. “I lost my pick. Do you have another one?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out two. One was his personal favorite, a green pick with a giant middle finger on it. The other was black, with a hand-drawn daisy on it. His father was quite the artist. She grabbed the black one. “Thank you so much,” she smiled, red lipstick bright against her Puerto Rican face. “You’re a lifesaver.” Taking notice of Enjolras, she smiled half heartedly, and pulled Grantaire away by his arm.

“You are friends with Enjolras…?” She gaped.

“I guess. We’ve spoken once or twice.”

“He’s had a really hard time this past year,” Ep deadpanned. “Be careful. Seriously.”

Grantaire frowned. “He seems perfectly harmless. Nice, a little opinionated, but a decent guy. Unless you’re trying to mark your territory…” he snarked, getting ill at the thought of Eponine liking him.

Eponine glared. “I don’t need your sarcasm. I didn’t mean be careful around him! Gosh. Just…whatever. Do what you want. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And with that, it was time for round one of the Battle of the Bands to begin.

 ---

 

“I’m Cosette Fauchevelant, and I’ll be singing This is War,” she smiled. Her blonde hair was braided down her back, and her sparkly guitar was glimmering under the careful curated stage lighting. She strummed lightly. She seemed more confident tonight, R noted.

“ _Oh I know, I know, I know all the songs you write are about me. But you changed the name so I can’t stake my claim, you’re so greedy…”_ She kept singing. The song was catchy and her voice was clear. He peeked around the curtain, noting the pleasant expressions on everyone’s faces. He dared to take a look at the judges. He didn’t recognize them.

Cosette sang out the chorus proudly, “ _This is war, my fingers are sore, so far from the top but I refuse to stop. Got shakers in my eardrums bossing like a new gun, baby when it’s all done, you won’t mind that I’ve won...”_

He had to admit that despite her petite appearance, she was a contender in the competition, and not just because of her status as Valjean’s daughter. She finished out strong, with a cute curtsy, and the audience (Grantaire pointedly ignored that fact) stood, clapping wildly.

She was backstage, and Eponine was lecturing her band about something. They looked good, honestly. The three guys had on plain jeans, white tee shirts and leather jackets (Jehan taking it upon himself to emblazon his own with his name in rhinestones) and Grantaire had to admit they looked fierce. He glanced at his own attire. Not exactly winner material. He hadn’t given a second thought to his outfit.

“So, what do we have here?” A voice said from behind him. He turned. Tall, handsome, and clutching a black guitar similar to Grantaire’s own. “Grantaire, is it?”

“And you’re Montparnesse,” he responded simply. “You’re really talented,” he gulped, staring into his eyes. Deep, blue eyes. His dark hair was usually slicked back, but today his hair was falling into his eyes. Montparnesse smirked, running a hand through a hand though his hair.

“Yeah, that’s me. I haven’t seen you around,” he said, faux-concern written all over his face. He took a sip of water (was it water?) from the bottle at his side. “Newbie,” he added. “Well, good luck out there,” he grinned, walking away, taking a grab at Grantaire’s ass before strutting to take his place onstage. Grantaire’s eyes widened and heart quickened. He looked around, making sure no one had noticed. The familiar fear rushed through his body. Was this seriously going to happen at another school? He breathed deeply, and turned his attention to the stage.

“I’m Montparnesse…” he said into the mic, grabbing a stool to sit on. “I’ll be singing a song called…well, let’s just say it’s called Lying.” He strummed intensely.

Backstage, Eponine tensed up, refusing to look Grantaire in the eye.

“ _Is it still me that makes you sweat? Am I who you think about in bed?_ _When the lights are dim and your hands are shaking as you're sliding off your dress? Well, then think of what you did and how I hope to God he was worth it. When the lights are dim and your heart is racing as your fingers touch your skin…”_

If it was possible for someone to sing lustfully, then Montparnesse had it down. Grantaire gritted his teeth. Montparnesse winked at the crowd.

Luckily for Grantaire, the song was over in a flash. The raucous applause filled the auditorium. The judges were nodding, making notes on their legal pads.

“What a jerk,” Enjolras said from beside Grantaire. He hadn’t realized the blond was still present. Montparnesse had that effect on him. “Eponine was sitting right backstage.” 

“Was the song about her?” R asked.

“Well, I suppose. That’s not exactly my story to tell,” Enjolras admitted quietly. Apparently he hadn’t noticed what had happened between Montparnesse and Grantaire. If he did, no comment was made. “You’ll have to ask her. Later, of course, because she’s next.”

The instruments were wheeled out by a stage hand—was it Bahorel? —and everyone took their positions. This time, the bassist spoke into his mic. “We’re Coffee and Cigarettes, and this is an original song called Wicked Ones.” 

The intense drum beat started, and lights went a little crazy. “ah, ah, ah…” Jehan vocalized.

“ _This night ain't for the faint of heart_ _, for the faint of heart, for the faint of heart. This night ain't for the faint of heart 'cause the faint of heart gonna fall apart…”_ Eponine belted, her voice gritty and the bass loud. Courfeyrac was giving it all behind the drums, and Jehan’s backing vocals accentuated the best parts of Eponine’s.

“ _Ain't no sleep when the wicked play_ _, all we do is get laid. Ain't no love when the wicked run, all we do is try to lay off, lay off, lay off. We’re the wicked ones, wicked ones…”_ Eponine sang out, the crowd clapping along to the beat. It was one of the best songs of the night. When it ended, the applause could probably be heard from outside of the building. Enjolras was clapping as well from backstage.

“I thought you hated this stuff,” Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

Enjolras glared. “Doesn’t mean I can’t support my friends.”

There were only two acts left before Grantaire took the stage. JBM was great as usual, and poor Marius let his nerves get to him and was flat for the whole song. Enjolras clapped him on the back, sending him to where he supposed to be.

Grantaire walked onstage, blinded by the lights. He adjusted the mic, his guitar strapped onto his back. He sat on Montparnesse’s stool. “Hey guys,” he mumbled, smiling lightly. “This is called Lost Stars.” He didn’t say anything else, swallowing his nerves.

“ _Please don't see_ _just a boy caught up in dreams and fantasies. Please see me reaching out for someone I can't see…”_ He began, hearing everyone catch their breath. He kept singing, liking how he had the audience’s full attention. He went softly into the chorus, singing out, “ _And God, tell us the reason youth is wasted on the young. It’s hunting season and the lambs are on the run, searching for meaning. But are we all lost stars trying to light up the dark?”_

Cheers erupted around the auditorium. He was shocked. The song wasn’t even over yet. He built momentum as the song went on, finally launching into his favorite part, showing off his falsetto. _“I thought I saw you out there crying, I thought I heard you call my name. And I thought I heard you out there crying, just the same…”_

He belted out the last chorus amidst the cheers, finishing decidedly strong. Even more applause happened after he strummed the final chord, deafening to him as he stumbled offstage. Backstage was silent. He looked around sheepishly. “Everyone okay?” He asked, looking to Enjolras for help. Enjolras just gaped.

“You’re going to win this whole thing,” Montparnesse boldly claimed, lounging on the piano. “You just smoked us all. Did you hear them out there?” He stood, his skin tight jeans brushing against the piano keys. “You just killed it.”

“It’s just me and my guitar though…” Grantaire protested. “I’m not that great. Did you hear Eponine?" 

Eponine shook her head. “No, Grantaire. You’re magical.” It was quiet backstage. Grantaire contemplated the unfamiliar words. Enjolras sat beside him.

“You’re so talented,” he said. “Did you think you got in this competition based on luck? And that song…” Enjolras shook his head. “It was amazing.” More silence. “It really struck a chord with me. Especially after- “

“If we could have all contestants onstage for the results, that would be great,” Valjean sounded from the stage. Grantaire stood, and shrugged at Enjolras.

“Thanks,” he said. “Let me know when that showcase is.”

Everyone was lined up onstage. Eponine looked nervously at him. He just smiled softly.

“As you all know two acts get eliminated each round. So, unfortunately, the two acts who will we not be seeing next month at the second round will be…” Courfeyrac did a mock drumroll on his legs to lighten the mood. It worked. “I’m sorry JBM and Marius. You won’t be going on to the second round.”

The event ended in a flash and people filtered out of the auditorium.

“You were amazing,” Grantaire’s mom gushed. “That song sounds so familiar though.” He just smiled and pulled her into a hug. “I haven’t seen you this happy in a while,” she whispered.

Enjolras stepped over to where he was. “You really were fantastic.”

R’s mom’s brow furrowed upon seeing Enjolras. “Are you one of R’s friends? 

He smiled politely. “Yes, my name is Enjolras.”

She frowned. “It’s nice to meet you.” She turned to Grantaire. “I have to get home. Are you doing anything afterwards with your…” She paused. “Friend?”

Grantaire gritted his teeth, but before he could say anything Enjolras stepped in. “Well, Combeferre is having an after party at his house. You’re welcome to come.”

Grantaire grinned sheepishly at his mom before following Enjolras to where Eponine, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Eponine were standing, thinking of what an afterparty would entail. How bad could it be?


	4. i'd like to be everything you want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now for the song that inspired the whole story! The plot definitely thickens in this chapter. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Songs used:
> 
> Enjolras  
> Boyfriend/We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together, Justin Bieber/Taylor Swift  
> (Aaron Tveit Elsie Fest 2015 cover)

 

The after party was just getting started when Eponine turned her rickety Honda off in Combeferre’s long driveway. His house was large and beautiful, with well kept grounds and colorful flowers everywhere. Grantaire felt underdressed just looking at the place. Eponine just grinned and hopped out of the car.

“I can show you where the good liquor is,” she whispered in his ear, her red lipstick leaving an imprint.

When they entered the large foyer, she led him to an open door that revealed a set of stairs that led down into a loud basement. He followed her, unsure of his place. The bands were all laughing and dancing, drinks in hand. A few theatre people were there too, as well as Enjolras, who was clutching a single beer, talking quietly with Combeferre in the corner. The latter lit up when he saw the two enter.

“Ep, can I get you a drink?” He grinned, handing her a Solo cup. “You too, Grantaire.”

“I think we can manage,” Eponine grinned, winking and walking towards the large display case in the corner of the luxurious basement. It was filled with various types of expensive alcohol. Grantaire didn’t take much time to contemplate- he grabbed the first bottle of wine he saw and popped the cork. “Not much for sharing, I guess,” she snorted, drinking her preference—champagne.

He took a swig, ignoring the panicked feeling in the pit of his stomach. Enjolras met his eye and walked in his direction. Grantaire took another swig.

“Combeferre, believe it or not, has the best parties,” Enjolras laughed, looking carefree under the influence of alcohol.

“How many beers have you had?” Grantaire asked as the blond boy swayed slightly, leaning on Grantaire for support.

“Two,” Enjolras muttered. Combeferre met Grantaire’s eye and mouthed one word: _lightweight_.

Grantaire tried to not snicker as he sat Enjolras down on the plush couch. He took another sip and glanced around the basement. Basic white walls, older furniture, and to his surprise, a large homemade stage with band equipment. Courfeyrac was onstage, laughingly singing covers of Top 40 songs as people danced. Grantaire flushed when he saw who was in the midst of the dancing, black hair dripping with sweat.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said from the couch. “I want to sing; I need to sing onstage.” Grantaire laughed as he failed to stand. Two beers and the guy was slammed. He stumbled over to Courfeyrac and mumbled something in his ear. Courf laughed raucously into the mic.

“Well, Enjolras has decided to regal us with a little song this evening…” He said, attempting to hide a smile. “And on this hallowed Friday night, who are we to deny him?” Everyone laughed and Combeferre held his head in his heads.

Montparnesse was grinning devilishly as Enjolras took the stage. Grantaire didn’t like how this night was going. He took a swig of wine, noting how light the bottle felt.

The blond cleared his throat and began to sing as Courfeyrac tapped a beat on the drums. “ _If I was your boyfriend, I'd never let you go_ _, I can take you places you ain't never been before…”_ Enjolras rapped. Eponine was laughing so hard her drink was spilling. Grantaire noticed Jehan frowning in the corner.

“ _Baby take a chance or you'll never ever know_ _, I got money in my hands that I'd really like to blow…”_ Even inebriated, Enjolras was immensely talented. Montparnesse raised an eyebrow. “ _Swag swag swag, on you, chillin’ by the fire why we eatin' fondue, I dunno about me but I know about you, so say hello to falsetto in three two…”_

And then everyone whooped as Enjolras sang out, “ _I'd like to be everything you want_ _. Hey boy, let me talk to you…”_

Grantaire choked on his own spit. Was boy an accident? Was it coincidence that Montparnesse grinned?

Everyone clapped as he kept singing. And then the blond boy stopped. “But wait…” He said drunkenly. “You can’t be my boyfriend…because _I remember when we broke up, the first time, saying this is it I’ve had enough…”_

Laughter echoed around the basement as he launched into the Taylor Swift cover. Eponine frowned. Jehan looked highly concerned, sending glances towards to crowd of high schoolers bordering the stage. Grantaire watched as Montparnesse hurriedly moved toward the back of the room, downing the drink in the wake of the dancing people. Enjolras was grinning but Combeferre was desperately trying to pull him off of the stage.

“He’s cute, you know,” Montparnesse said into Grantaire’s ear. He jumped, Montparnesse smiled. “Cute, but a lot of work.”

“You dated?” Grantaire asked, feeling the familiar buzz of the alcohol kick in.

Montparnesse snorted. “Sure, lets go with that.” He poured himself another drink, downing it in one go. Combeferre was escorting Enjolras to the couch, and Coureyrac was back to being drunken entertainment. The suave, dark haired senior slid next to Grantaire, his sides tingling with the contact. “Want some?”

Without looking, Grantaire nodded, his eyes scanning the room for Eponine, who was in a corner with Cosette, the two glaring daggers at the kid Marius who was making out furiously with that theatre girl. He didn’t seem too crushed by his loss that night.

“But back to you,” Montparnesse said, handing Grantaire a cup. “What’s your love life looking like?" 

“Undecided,” Grantaire muttered. “It’s a long story.”

“Need some help deciding…?” Montparnesse asked simply but with underlying tension, raising an eyebrow.

Looking back, Grantaire doesn’t know what made him do it. Maybe it was the whole bottle of wine. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the night. Maybe it was those blue, blue eyes staring intently into his own green ones. Maybe it was all of the above.

All he knows is that when Montparnesse reached a hand out to him, he took it, and he was led out of the room.

 

\---

 

He woke in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar place. It was two in the morning according to the alarm clock on the bedside table and Montparnesse was naked beside him, tattoos covering his arms, hair messy. He was snoring. Grantaire, in a panic, searched for his own clothes and his phone. Two missed calls from Eponine.

He blinked and tried to orient himself.

When calling Eponine, it rang twice before she hung up the phone. He cursed and stood, pulling his jeans and tee shirt on. His Converse were near the door, so he slipped those on before pulling the door open. His flannel was nowhere to be seen.

It appeared he was in a small house. Not Combeferre’s. He assumed it was Montparnesse’s. He had no way to get home. He had no clue where he was.

Grantaire cursed again, sliding down the wall with his head in his hands. He refused to tell his mom it was getting bad again.

But then his phone rang. An unknown number.

“Hey, Grantaire, are you okay?” Jehan’s voice filtered through the phone, and Grantaire sighed in relief.

“Jehan,” he breathed. “I-“

“We all saw you leave with Montparnesse,” Jehan, not unkindly. The words still stung a little. “Where are you? Are you okay? We’ve been trying to reach you for hours. Enjolras has been driving all over town.”

Grantaire swallowed. “I was just with Montparnesse. What’s the big deal?”

If Jehan was irritated, Grantaire couldn’t tell. Even so, he responded, “It’s a huge deal. He’s the most reckless and irresponsible human on the planet. He’s involved in crime, Grantaire.” Silence. “Where are you?”

“I think I’m at his house,” Grantaire said quietly, his voice cracking. “I have no clue.”

Jehan mumbled something to someone on the other end. There was brief rustling, and he heard Eponine’s disgruntled voice. “What room?”

“Hallway,” Grantaire said. “Pictures on the wall. Blue paint.”

She sighed. “Be more specific. Did you go to his room? What was there?”

Grantaire wracked his brain. “Some band posters?”

She laughed cruelly. “Yes, he’s at Montparnesse’s place. Parents must not be home. Call Enjolras, he knows where it is.” Silence, and some more rustling on the other end. “You made a horrible decision,” Eponine finally said, matter-of-factly. “But Enjolras is on his way to get you and take you home. Good luck,” she snorted.

Grantaire’s brain was pounding against his skull. “Good luck?” But she had already hung up the phone. He stumbled down the hallway and found the front door. He left the house, sitting on the front steps. There was still a hint of chill in the air, unusual for late spring. He shivered, missing his flannel.

A red Prius pulled into the driveway, headlights blinding Grantaire. He walked to the car, opening the passenger door. Enjolras’ angry face greeted him.

“You had us all worried sick,” he said as Grantaire buckled up and shut the door. “Leaving with Montparnesse of all people…you were both drinking heavily and it’s a miracle you aren’t dead on the side of the road.” Grantaire sighed.

Enjolras looked him over, and gulped. “Your shirt is inside out.”

Grantaire just snorted. “I’m just good at making piss poor decisions.”

“We were worried, Grantaire,” Enjolras said finally, leaving the sketchy neighborhood. “I’m glad I sobered up in time to come save your ass.”

“I live beside Eponine,” he mumbled.

The ride was silent. Grantaire looked out of the window, refusing to look Enjolras in the eye. By the time they reached the older boy’s house, Enjolras was yawning.

“Did something happen between you and Montparnesse?” Grantaire asked.

“We were…involved,” admitted Enjolras. “Until we weren’t anymore.”

“What happened?” questioned Grantaire.

Enjolras sighed. “My dad didn’t know…about me. Discovered us together. Beat the crap out of me. Said he still wanted to, you know, be with me. So it was alright for a while, we kept it a secret. Until he cheated on me with a girl. Eponine, to be exact.” He frowned. “It’s okay though. My dad thinks it’s just a phase, and I haven’t been involved with anyone since then. So it’s okay right now.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras. His blond hair was disheveled, his prim button up wrinkled and untucked.

“Well, this is my stop,” Grantaire joked. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“I wouldn’t get involved with Montparnesse if I were you,” Enjolras warned. Grantaire opened the car door. “He makes you crazy.”

The dark headed boy nodded as he stepped into his own yard. “Yeah. Noted.” Silence. “Goodnight, Enjolras.”

“May 17th!” Enjolras called out as he reached his front porch. “May 17th. That’s the day of the showcase. If you want to come.”

Grantaire smiled. “I’ll be there.” 

When he fell asleep that night he reeked of alcohol and Montparnesse’s cologne, with a touch of that new car smell. The last thing on his mind was the smile on Enjolras’ face.


	5. such a heavenly view

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs used in this chapter:
> 
> Grantaire/Enjolras:  
> Sky Full of Stars (Acoustic), Coldplay
> 
> Jehan/Combeferre:  
> Tonight You're Perfect, New Politics
> 
> Side note: I LOVE receiving feedback! So if any of my readers have time to leave a little comment with your thoughts and reactions, it would make my day!

 

Eponine wouldn’t meet his eyes. All day, Grantaire was trying to figure out a proper apology. The silence was finally broken at lunch. His usual table in the corner was sometimes occupied by a member of one of the bands- Jehan would often stop by to discuss lyrics, Combeferre to talk about pros and cons of stringed instruments, and Enjolras, who would talk about anything. Eponine slammed her lunch tray beside him, eyes furrowed.

“So, what now?” She asked, tearing into her hamburger.

“What?” Grantaire asked sheepishly. “If this is about Montparnesse…”

“Sleeping with my ex is acceptable. Not having a plan for the second round of the competition isn’t,” she said through gritted teeth. “What are you going to sing?”

Grantaire reached into his backpack. The faithful black book was open on the table, Eponine poring through it.

“Your dad really went through some bad shit,” she laughed. “These are depressing.”

Grantaire sighed. “Yeah. He did." 

She raised her eyebrows. “This one is pretty good. Old as the hills. But good.” Ep scanned the page. “It’ll work I think. Ha. It says ‘for Beth.’ Is Beth your mom?”

Grantaire ripped the the book from her hands. “That’s not my mom.”

Eponine was silent. “Oh. Sorry…”

Grantaire just shut the book quickly, shoving it into his backpack. “It’s fine. Not like anyone knew.” They ate their lunch in silence. That is, until a familiar blond boy walked up, his bright smile blinding them.

“Grantaire!” He grinned. “Can you come to the auditorium? There’s something I want to show you.”

Eponine wiggled her eyebrows, and Grantaire just smiled and stood. “Yeah, I’ll walk with you.”

“Was she pretty mad? You know,” Enjolras added, “about Friday night.”

He just shrugged, adjusting the weight of his backpack on his shoulders. “She hasn’t said anything. She’s just focused on my Battle of the Bands song, for some reason.”

Enjolras gave him an odd look. “Shouldn’t she be worried about her own?”

“That’s what I thought. I don’t know what she’s up to,” Grantaire admitted. Enjolras led the way, tossing his backpack onto the stage. The elegant piano sat stage right, and he sat behind the keys.

“Get up here, R,” he laughed. “I don’t bite.”

Grantaire grinned and moved towards him. “Our first meeting might disagree.”

The blond rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah…I realize how I might have come across.” He touched the keys lightly. “But anyway. I wanted you to hear this. I was playing around last night, and kind of came up with something…” He took a deep breath and played a soft piano melody. It was driving yet light, with a touch of intensity. He kept playing, Grantaire taking a minute to appreciate the sound.

“What do you think?” Enjolras asked. “I’m not sure what else to do with it.” His eyes were earnest, the blue sparkling under the stage lights.

“You could add lyrics,” Grantaire suggested.

“ _You_ could add lyrics,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire sighed. He had forgotten. “Um, well…” he started. “The thing is…”

“Actually, I think I have something,” Enjolras smiled. “Do you have any paper?” Grantaire handed him the black notebook. The blond flipped to the back and scribbled some lyrics.

“Ooh, a love song…” Grantaire teased. “This is better than Twilight.”

Enjolras frowned. “I’m just playing around.”

“Let me see,” Grantaire said, reading the lyrics. “Stars? Really? Should I consider this a copyright infringement?”

Enjolras cleared his throat before playing his melody again. “See if this is okay,” he said, before singing out clearly, “ _'Cause you're a sky, cause you're a sky full of stars_ _. I'm gonna give you my heart, 'cause you're a sky, cause you're a sky full of stars, 'cause you light up the path…”_

Grantaire smiled as Enjolras floundered, lacking words to continue the song. He thought for a minute before adding lyrics to the black notebook in a hurry. Enjolras stopped playing, nodding at the addition. “How would that go melodically?”

“Something with more drive,” Grantaire added. “Probably higher in your register too.”

Enjolras turned away from the keys. “You’re pretty good at this. No wonder you wrote something as amazing as Lost Stars.”

The older boy sighed. “Yeah. I guess.” His phone lit up with a text.

**Want to join us for practice tonight? Jehan is out of ideas for the second round. Says none of our songs are good enough. –E**

“Why does everyone think I am the musical expert?” Grantaire muttered.

“You’re talented, R,” Enjolras sighed. “In fact, you can finish the song if you want to. You’ll create something more beautiful than I ever could.”

Grantaire sighed, thinking of the piano in his basement he hadn’t touched since that day. “Yeah. I might do that.”

“Thanks for helping,” Enjolras smiled.

The two boys walked back to class in comfortable silence. Grantaire could only imagine what practice with Eponine would be like that night.

 

\--- 

“Grantaire, please tell Eponine that we can’t keep doing the same thing every round and expect to win. The grunge rock sound may work for now but what about later?” Jehan sighed, sitting on the torn couch in the cramped garage. Eponine was filing her nails, appearing indifferent.

“Well, what other kinds of sounds do you want to do?” Grantaire asked, silently wondering when he became the musical referee.

Jehan looked guiltily at Combeferre and Courfeyrac. “Actually, we’ve been working on something…”

Eponine stood violently. “You’re joking right now. What’s wrong with Wicked Ones and Heaven Knows? They’re crowd pleasers.”

Combeferre pushed his glasses up his nose, analyzing the best way to present this issue. “Perhaps, well…maybe we would like to sing about something other than our own badass-ness?”

Eponine glared. “I think the songs are great.”

Courfeyrac was still smiling, attempting to break the tension. “How about we perform it for you? See if you like it. You may be surprised. We just…I don’t know, wanted to do something a little more upbeat and positive.”

The dark haired Puerto Rican girl just sat on the couch huffily, glaring. “Go ahead then.”

Grantaire was at a loss for words as the three guys started playing their respective instruments, with Combeferre strumming the bass behind the mic stand Eponine usually inhabited. Jehan was creating funky rhythms with the keys and Courf always looked happy behind the drum kit. Jehan pulled another pic close to his face, and sang out, “ _Should I believe in the world, momma? Should I give up and hide or should I stay and fight? Should I believe in the rules, momma? Tell me if I should run or learn to shoot a gun…”_

Grantaire gaped. The three were great together. He hated to admit it, but taking Eponine’s broody atttidue out of the song did wonders for it. Eponine, too, had come to that realization. She watched in awe as they kept singing, with Combeferre launching into the chorus.

“ _Tonight you’re perfect, I wanna fall in love with the stars in your eyes, tonight you’re perfect, I wanna fall in love but only for the night…”_ Combeferre sang out, Jehan accenting his vocals perfectly. The group’s positive and upbeat sound was a change of pace. Eponine stood slowly, grabbing her guitar. The boys grinned as she took the background role, strumming along to the song, letting Jehan and Combeferre guide the song.

The electronic sound reverberated around the garage, and Grantaire found himself genuinely enjoying the mix. The four teens were having a blast, jamming out to the song that Eponine had never expected to like. Combeferre smiled, meeting Eponine’s eyes as the song ended.

“Okay…” she admitted. “I kind of love it.”

The three boys cheered. Grantaire raised an eyebrow and asked, “So what exactly am I doing here?”

Courfeyrac laughed. “You’re our friend, Grantaire. We like hanging out with you.”

When they put in a cheesy romantic comedy and snuggled on the couch, he was pulled into the fray. Friends. He thought he could get used to this town. Halfway through the movie, his phone buzzed consecutively.

**Café Musain this weekend? To talk about the song. Friday sound okay? –Enjolras**

**Hey. Haven’t heard from you. Would love to take you out. Friday alright?**

The second text was from an unknown number. Grantaire could only assume that it was from Montparnesse. He remembered the song he and Enjolras started earlier that day. He remembered waking up dazed at 2am.

He pressed reply.


	6. the perfect song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved getting a comment last chapter! It positively made my day! If you have time, I would love to receive one. 
> 
> Songs used in this chapter:
> 
> Cosette/Eponine:  
> Molly, Emily Kinney
> 
> Montparnesse:  
> New Perspective (Acoustic), Panic! At The Disco
> 
> Jehan/Combeferre/Courfeyrac:  
> Harlem, New Politics
> 
> Grantaire:  
> A Higher Place, Adam Levine

It was raining when Grantaire arrived at Café Musain that Friday. Rain had always been his favorite kind of weather. There was something incredibly poetic about the lack of sunlight. He could appreciate it in the artistic sense. Seemed like something Jehan would like. He clutched his caramel mocha (he liked fancy drinks. Sue him.) and sat at a corner table, the bluesy music playing over the speakers lulling him into a drowsy sense of security. Coffee shops tended to do that.

Enjolras, however, arrived disgruntled, haired soaked and black raincoat dripping with rainwater. He ordered quickly and gave them his name, taking a seat across from Grantaire. (Who hadn’t worked on the song a bit and why was he here again?) “Hey,” he smiled, checking his phone briefly for messages. “How are you?”

He was probably the only person to ever ask that and actually mean it. Grantaire snorted and took a sip of his coffee. “I’m okay. I have a little of the song written but not much—“

The dark headed boy was interrupted by Enjolras’ name being called. The blond grabbed his coffee, revisiting his previous seat. “I’m glad you’re well. Have you heard from Montparnesse any?” He inquired innocently, sipping his drink.

Grantaire paused. “Yes. He asked me out. I ignored him.”

“Oh. Alright,” Enjolras muttered. “He’s really talented. I can’t wait to hear his song for the second round.”

Grantaire nodded, refusing to think about the second round. “Yeah. About that…”

“What have you prepared?” Enjolras asked. R knew that he didn’t mean anything by it, but all of the questions about his songs were making him uncomfortable.

“A song called Higher Place,” Grantaire sighed. “It’s alright. Typical Hollywood bullshit love song.”

“You don’t like love songs?” Enjolras asked, eyes wide.

Grantaire laughed, and loudly. But it was a harsh, cynical sound. “No. It’s all crap to me. Love is just something that can be marketed to the masses to make money. Typical capitalistic bullshit.” He took a sip of coffee. His cup was getting low.

Enjolras furrowed his brow. “I agree with your last point. But I do believe there’s more to love than that.”

“I don’t believe in much of anything,” Grantaire admitted. The silence was awkward as Enjolras contemplated his words. “But I can show you the song we’ve been working on.” He pulled out the notebook, the newly added words appearing fresh next to the faded ink of the senior Grantaire’s musings. “I tried to scribble out some chords, but I’m not as familiar with the piano as I used to be, so I’m not sure about it…” 

Enjolras scanned the page, nodded appreciatively. “This is looking great.”

The dark headed boy shrugged. “I’m not exactly experienced with this stuff, so…”

The blond looked at him quizzically. “What are you talking about? This book is full of songs.” 

Grantaire bit his lip, and nodded. “Right. I just meant they’re not very good…”

“At least show me your next song. The least I can do is read over it for you, especially with you sitting through a theatre showcase.”

Grantaire ripped out the few pages with “A Higher Place” scribbled on the top and handed them to Enjolras. “It’s slightly shitty but it’s all I have to work with.” He watched as Enjolras’ face softened.

“For someone who hates love, this song reeks of it. Who is it about?” Enjolras asked good-naturedly.

“It’s all bullshit,” R reiterated. His coffee cup was empty. “Just some words on a page.”

It was the younger boy’s turn to snort. “Seriously? This second verse took my breath away. ‘I don't know if I'm the fool who's getting this all wrong. That's the dream to sing, the perfect girl, the perfect song, all I know is I can't keep on wearing this disguise, when you're the only one that sees what's real in my eyes.’ This girl must have mattered a lot to you.”

At the mention of girl, Grantaire lowered his eyes. He blocked out all memories of his father, and simply said, “Not really. It’s not about a girl.”

“It says girl right here…” Enjolras muttered, but let it go. “It’s a great song. I think you’ll be great. Are you nervous? It’s a week from today, right?”

Grantaire just nodded, content to sit in silence. And they sat in silence until the sun sunk below the horizon and Enjolras made his way home. Grantaire’s mom was at work when he got home, so he pulled out his guitar. The second verse needed a little alteration.

 ---

“Ready?” Combeferre asked Grantaire. This time, Coffee and Cigarettes looked a little more diverse. The dark, bespectacled boy was sporting a Polo shirt and jeans. “Because we absolutely are not.”

Eponine and Cosette were conspiring in a corner, while Jehan and Courfeyrac were worriedly looking towards them. “We haven’t picked a song yet,” Combeferre said calmly.

Grantaire gaped. “You go on in an hour.” The curly headed guitarist had chosen a green v neck this go around. He thought it brought out his eyes. Not that he would ever tell anyone that.

Eponine gestured to Combeferre and the band met in a huddle. Grantaire continued to tune and strum absentmindedly, and Jehan let out a surprised shriek. Valjean, who had yet to take his place onstage as announcer, made a quick note on his clipboard and muttered something angrily to a stagehand.

Montparnesse, as usual, materialized by Grantaire’s side. “So, turns out Eponine and Cosette are performing together now.”

R tried to imagine Cosette’s lofty tunes with Eponine’s gritty electric guitar. It didn’t make sense. “Oh,” he said, lacking anything valuable to say.

“You haven’t spoken to me since that night,” Montparnesse said seriously. “Did I do something to upset you? I meant it when I said that I want to take you out.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “I’ve been stressed,” he lied easily. “Worried about the competition.”

Jehan stormed over to Grantaire. “Can you believe her?” If looks could kill… “What are we supposed to sing?”

He pulled out his trusty black notebook. “I think I have something that can help.”

 

\--- 

 

“We are Coffee and Cigarettes,” Jehan said breathlessly into the microphone above his keyboard. “And this is called Harlem.”

The three boys began playing, at home behind their instruments. Jehan sang out proudly, “ _I spend my money on the regular miracles_ _, just like you like me like everybody else,up on the sun looking sad and beautiful, just like you like me like everybody else…”_

Combining one of their melodies with a few of Grantaire’s lyrics was a beautiful combination. It was nothing like the original by Grantaire’s dad, but the new version had to be ten times better. The whole school was clapping and singing along.

Jehan sang into the mic, “ _When it gets loud, I turn it up_ _, shake it like a bad girl up in Harlem._ _When it’s too hot, I light it up_ _, light it up yeah smoke ‘em if you got ‘em…”_

The song ended with uproarious applause.

Enjolras was in charge of the backstage again. He waved to Grantaire, who was warming up. He was right after Cosette and Eponine. The two girls, appearing to be total opposites, sauntered onstage, plugging their guitars into the amps. Eponine began with a roaring guitar chord, and Cosette sang out prettily, “ _Oh, I know about Molly because she told my friend that she was hooking up with you on the weekend, guess those stories that you told me turned out not to be true, you say you’re done with Molly, well I am done with you…”_

Grantaire was pleasantly surprised at the combination of the two when Eponine joined in to harmonize. He was horrified at the look on that freshman girl’s face two rows back, Marius gaping beside her. He would rather not know what caused such a song to be sung by the two girls.

They ended with a bang, and it was Grantaire’s turn. He was little nervous to sing this one, mostly because it was nowhere near as good as Lost Stars. Maybe it would suffice, though. When he walked onstage, the crowd erupted into cheers. He had a feeling he would disappoint.

“This is called A Higher Place,” he muttered. He glanced stage right and saw Enjolras, his thumbs up and an encouraging look on his face. Stage left was Montparnesse, an unreadable expression on his face.

He strummed lightly before singing, “ _I don't know why I don't see happiness in this town, everyone I meet seems so uptight, wearing their frown. What good is living where dreams come true_ _if nobody smiles? Everyone's chasing the latest star, the latest style…”_

People were clapping along to the beat. That had to be a good sign. He launched into the chorus. “ _You take me to another space in time, you take me to a higher place. So I—I'm about to get out of the race, I don't mind, you ought to know that everything's nothing if I don't have you…”_

And now for the second verse. He’d been nervous about it since he edited it after the coffee date with Enjolras. He sang out, his voice wavering a little: “ _I don't know if I'm the fool who's getting this all wrong…”_ He looked to meet Enjolras’ eyes. _“That's the dream to sing, the perfect guy, the perfect song…”_ He glanced back to the audience, who had gone a little quiet. _“All I know is I can't keep on wearing this disguise, when you're the only one that sees what's real in my eyes…”_

He ended the song and received a good amount of applause. Not as much as last time, he thought bitterly to himself.

Enjolras met him offstage. “That was great. You did a good job.” He didn’t mention the change in the second verse. He rushed off to prepare for Montparnesse’s performance.

The boy in question was getting ready to go onstage. He was wearing a short sleeve button up and a black vest, his blue eyes widening at seeing Grantaire. “Glad to see you’ve figured it out,” he winked. “I hope you like my song,” he said earnestly. He squeezed Grantaire’s bicep before taking the stage.

He sat down and went straight into his song. He strummed passionately, the tone of the song much different than the last. Montparnesse sang, “ _I feel the salty waves come in,_ _I feel them crash against my skin, and I smile as I respire because I know they'll never win._ _There's a haze above my TV that changes everything I see, and maybe if I continue watching I'll lose the traits that worry me…”_

His whole posture was different. He sang earnestly, looking imploringly at the audience. He belted out the chorus, his voice unwavering, _“Can we fast-forward to go down on me?  
Stop there and let me correct it. I wanna live a life from a new perspective, you come along because I love your face, and I'll admire your expensive taste. And who cares divine intervention? I wanna be praised from a new perspective, but leaving now would be a good idea, so catch me up on getting out of here…”_

Grantaire found himself genuinely enjoying this song. He seemed so honest on the stage, and the audience’s cheers seemed to reflect that. He couldn’t imagine anyone getting cut from the competition at this point. The unknown judges had a hard decision ahead.

“Rumor has it that they’re letting all of you advance,” Enjolras said beside him. Either Grantaire was unobservant, or people at this school had magical powers.

“If they’re going to cut anyone, it should be me. I had the weakest song,” Grantaire admitted.

Enjolras shook his head. “You were all great. They’re probably cutting Cosette and Eponine. They weren’t too happy with her last minute addition. Or subtraction, or whatever.”

They stood in silence as Montparnesse reappeared backstage. The tension was palpable. Even Courfeyrac’s jokes couldn’t lighten the mood.

“Can I have all bands onstage please?” Valjean said.

The four groups stood in a line. Eponine and Cosette were holding hands.

“We have decided to cut only one group,” Valjean said, attempting to keep emotion out of his voice. “And I’m sorry, Cosette and Eponine. You guys are no longer allowed to compete.”

And just like that, the remaining three had advanced to the final round. Grantaire looked at Montparnesse, who was genuinely smiling.

Enjolras hugged him tightly when he reached backstage. “Congratulations,” he whispered. “You deserve this.” Grantaire hugged him back, thinking that he most definitely did not. He thought to the songs in his black notebook.

He tugged it out of the smallest pocket in his backpack. It was open already, to a song called Cough Syrup. The one Eponine said was depressing. He thought to Montparnesse’s change of sound. This one just might work.

 

 ---

“Boys,” Eponine grinned. “I have something to help you guys advance.” 

Jehan looked at her suspiciously. “What is it?”

“A song I wrote,” Eponine proposed. “It’s a little sad, but I think you guys can work with it.”

“Thank you, Eponine,” Combeferre smiled. “But isn’t it wrong to claim someone else’s intellectual property? Shouldn’t that go against competition rules?”

She frowned. “You guys sang that song Grantaire gave you.”

“Technically we assisted in rewriting it. Most of the words were our own,” Courfeyrac butted in.

She waved her hand, dismissing the idea. “Think of it as a gift. I know for a fact the audience will love it.” She pulled out handwritten copies of the song, and passed them out to the boys.

“Cough Syrup?” Combeferre questioned, pushing his glasses up his face.

“Give it a chance,” Eponine coaxed. “It’ll be perfect.”


	7. something has changed within me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter. I apologize wholeheartedly but I absolutely love the comments!! Keep 'em coming! Much love, seriously. 
> 
> Songs used:
> 
> Enjolras:  
> Defying Gravity, Wicked (Aaron Tveit Out of Oz Wicked Session ft. Rachel Tucker)  
> Why, God, Why? from Miss Saigon, Aaron Tveit (Elsie Fest 2015 Cover)

Grantaire barely made it to Enjolras’ showcase in time. He slipped in just as the curtains parted, snagging a seat towards the back. On the stage, Enjolras sat behind the piano, with a girl beside him on a stool, guitar in hand. The blond smiled at the audience and someone whooped.

“Welcome everyone! These students have worked so hard, and even though as the Theatre Club President I push them pretty hard, they have tons of natural talent that I can’t begin to describe.” His eyes seemed to light up when speaking of them. “The theme this year is “Reimagined”, which is precisely why we are handling instruments right now. Your favorite Broadway hits reimagined for listeners who may not like this type of music. I really hope you guys enjoy it as much as we have enjoyed putting it together.” 

Enjolras began playing a soft melody, and the guitar girl said, “This is Defying Gravity.” The sparse audience clapped, and the two smiled.

“ _Something has changed within me, something is not the same. I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game…_ ” Enjolras sang out softly, but passionately, the beautiful piano filling up the room. He continued, “ _Too late for second guessing, too late to go back to sleep, it’s time to trust my instincts, close my eyes, and leap…”_

Grantaire hadn’t heard this song before, but many people in the audience were moved to tears already. The two joined in perfect harmony for the chorus, and Grantaire felt his breath catch in his throat.

“ _It’s time to try defying gravity, I think I’ll try defying gravity, and you can’t pull me down…”_ He didn’t know who the girl was, but she was perfectly matched with Enjolras when it came to talent. The piano and guitar combination beautifully accented the song. Sometimes they sang in harmony, sometimes in unison. When the song was over, Grantaire once again was left utterly breathless by the younger boy’s talent. Enjolras gave a humble wave and exited the stage.

Grantaire wasn’t interested in anyone besides Enjolras, but he attempted to pay attention out of politeness. There were a few upbeat numbers, but most had chosen to sing something to show off their range and vocal prowess. He realized too late that he hadn’t grabbed a program and didn’t even know if Enjolras would be singing again.

About halfway through, he came out again, sans instruments. “I decided to sing a classic,” he smiled. Even from this distance, it was disarming. “Why, God, Why? From Miss Saigon.”

Apparently this was good, because the applause was deafening. The piano started up, and Enjolras gripped his mic, singing out confidently, “ _Why does Saigon never sleep at night? Why does this girl smell of orange trees? How can I feel good when nothing's right? Why is she cool when there is no breeze?”_

And wow. Grantaire felt tears rising, threatening to spill. He wiped them away hurriedly, refusing to be enchanted by Enjolras’ earnest voice onstage.

_“Vietnam…you don't give answers; do you friend? Just questions that don't ever end. Why God? Why today? I'm all through here, on my way, there's nothing left here that I'll miss. Why send me now a night like this?”_ Enjolras’ voice filled the auditorium. Grantaire was speechless. He could listen to this all day.

The song rose and fell, and had Grantaire on the edge of his seat. It ended spectacularly, with Enjolras’ closed eyes and uproarious applause and goose bumps on Grantaire’s exposed arms, thinking of the music that Enjolras created. It couldn’t compare to what Grantaire played, not even close. It was far, far greater.

The show ended too early, and Grantaire rose to leave, hoping to catch him in the foyer of the auditorium before he left. 

“You were amazing,” Grantaire whispered as Enjolras approached him, covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

“Really?” Enjolras asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “That means a lot. I’m just glad you came.” They looked awkwardly at each other for a moment before Grantaire pulled him into a hug.

“That was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever heard…” Grantaire mumbled into Enjolras’ ear. Was it Grantaire’s imagination or did Enjolras blush?

“You must not have heard much then,” Enjolras deflected. “But it honestly was great to see you…hopefully we can all hang out this summer.”

Grantaire pressed his lips together. Right. Only exams were left before they got out for summer. And that meant not seeing Enjolras every day. Or anyone, really. He nodded and said his goodbyes before the pervading sense of loneliness could engulf him.

**R- found this cool art museum in Charleston. Want to come with? –Mntprnss**

Grantaire sighed, and thought about it. Montparnesse hadn’t been so bad lately. He responded a quick yes and hopped in his car. As soon as he had started up the ignition, he received a text back.

**Great. Tomorrow? We can do lunch first. -Mntprnss**

 --- 

 

“So then I said, seriously? I can’t just take the hermit crab with me,” Montparnesse laughed, taking a sip of his Dr. Pepper at the generic Italian restaurant. Grantaire was trying to be interested in him, interested in what he had to say, but all he could think about was Enjolras.

They sat in silence while they ate. Montparnesse really did try, he had to admit. And he looked great. The date attempt would almost be sweet if Grantaire wasn’t constantly thinking about someone else. Montparnesse paid silently, and the two stood. Montparnesse had picked Grantaire up on, of all things, a motorcycle. They rode to the art museum, and Grantaire was impressed with the architecture immediately.

“They have a new classics exhibit on the second floor,” the taller boy said to Grantaire, blue eyes piercing. His black hair was slicked back, his tattoos clashing with the blue plaid button up. “I’m not sure if you’re into art at all, but I thought it might be a nice change of scenery.”

They admired the art, Grantaire appreciating the more abstract paintings. “I love the use of shadows,” he mumbled, deep in thought. Montparnesse seemed perfectly content with not talking, which eased Grantaire’s mind. By the time they reached the classics exhibit, Grantaire found himself actually enjoying Montparnesse’s company, though he did have a sneaking suspicion that this wasn’t exactly how the boy was around everyone. He could be quite charming when he wanted to be.

“Ah, a replica of Mona Lisa,” Montparnasse grinned. “Have you ever wondered why she has that expression on her face?”

Grantaire frowned. “Sometimes. There are a lot of theories.” 

The two launched into an in-depth conversation about the particular piece of art. “I’m always afraid of seeming pretentious when I talk about Da Vinci because it’s something everyone knows about,” Grantaire admitted, “But there truly is something so amazing about his art. A practicality almost, especially with his scientific observations…”

“I like how the majority of his art was science related, showing how the two are truly compatible,” Montparnesse responded.

The sun was setting when the two left, and when Montparnesse grabbed Grantaire’s hand, he didn’t push him away.


	8. you get lighter the more it gets dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved getting comments last chapter! I did a little happy dance! This chapter is a little darker, and definitely more serious. ALSO: I did not list one song because of spoiler reasons. If you want to know what it is, I'll include it next chapter! (Though you can Google the lyrics to listen to it.) remember, comments are well loved!
> 
> Songs used:
> 
> Montparnesse:  
> Ballad of Mona Lisa (Acoustic), Panic! At The Disco
> 
> Combeferre/Jehan/Courfeyrac:  
> Cough Syrup, Young the Giant

Grantaire jumped when he heard his mom walk down the stairs and into the basement. He was sitting at the piano, feverishly playing Enjolras’ melody. He sang out, hoping to figure out what on earth to write next.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “This sounds great. Did you write it?”

Grantaire paused, nodding. “Yeah. Enjolras and I did.”

She attempted to keep the puzzled look off of her face but failed miserably. “Right. About him. And that other boy, with the motorcycle. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. What about that girl Eponine? She’s pretty,” his mom mumbled.

Grantaire sighed. “Mom—” he started.

She shook her head. “No. You know what you told me at the end of last year. It’s part of the reason I accepted a job here. You said it wouldn’t get bad again. Has it?”

He looked down. “There was one Friday night- “

Her eyes didn’t hold any anger, just compassion. “I don’t want you to have to go back to rehab. I really don’t. You know it’s you’re having to repeat this year, and- “

“Yeah. I know, mom.” Grantaire paused. “What do Enjolras and Montparnesse have to do with rehab?”

“The last time it got bad, you were involved with that…that boy,” she said, but Grantaire stood up angrily. 

“Really, mom?” He said, his voice raised, one step away from shouting. “You don’t care about rehab. You don’t. You didn’t toss out the liquor cabinet but you did move me as far away from Jean-Luc as possible. You would be fine with me going back to rehab as long as I don’t screw around with guys, right?” Grantaire was shouting now.

His mom was angry too. “You know good and well what happened to your father. It doesn’t stop with alcohol, son. It ends with drugs, then heavier drugs. I am trying to protect you.” She frowned. “Your father was confused, and I don’t want you to be confused.”

“He wasn’t confused!” Grantaire shouted, throwing his hands up into the air. “He cheated, he left, he died. There’s nothing confused about it!”

His mom was crying. Grantaire should have felt guilty, but all he felt was anger. He grabbed his notebook and stormed up to his room, slamming the door for good measure. Was it immature? Most definitely. Did he care? Nope.

Grantaire slid down the wall, his head in his hands. He didn’t need another reminder of his alcoholism. He didn’t need to be reminded that he was the youngest person in rehab. He didn’t need to be reminded that he would graduate high school at 19 because of his repeated year.

He didn’t need to be reminded of Jean-Luc.

R opened up his notebook. Tears threatened to spill but he swallowed the lump in his throat. He stood, grabbing his guitar, setting his mind on really practicing for the finals. Singing Cough Syrup, absorbing the words, was a wake up call. His father felt the same way he did, at one point. Grantaire closed his eyes, feeling the words cut into his soul. This would be the winning song. He knew it.

He calmed considerably and even felt himself cheer up a bit. Winning. He hadn’t taken it into consideration. He actually didn’t know what he had thought. Grantaire frowned. Going with the flow, he supposed. The flow had brought him to a pretty pivotal moment, he thought bitterly. Winning. He supposed he would like it. 

He thought of Enjolras and he thought of his father’s songs. Grantaire felt the familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. Guilt.

Winning may not be the best option.

 

\--- 

Montparnesse waved at him as Grantaire entered through the backdoor of the stage, guitar in hand. “I’m so nervous,” he admitted, his blue eyes wide.

Grantaire smiled, squeezing his bicep. “You’ll do great,” he said earnestly. Montparnesse grinned and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

“Was that too much?” He asked, but Grantaire was silent.

“R!” Eponine called out, headpiece and clipboard in hand. “I’m helping manage the stage tonight. You like?”

Grantaire laughed and nodded. Montparnesse had disappeared.

“So what’s going on with you two?” Eponine asked, dark hair in a low bun.

Grantaire shrugged. “Just hanging out. Nothing that serious.” He searched the room for Enjolras, hoping to see him before he went out onstage.

Eponine raised her eyebrows, a concerned look on her face. “Are you sure that what’s he thinks?”

Grantaire didn’t have time to respond as Eponine was whisked off by a tech person, muttering about the mix being off. He waved to Jehan, who was sitting with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. The three boys lit up, waving earnestly. It warmed Grantaire up inside.

“Nervous?” Jehan asked, his long red hair in a ponytail. He had slight stubble on his chin, as if he had forgotten to shave that morning.

He shook his head. “Not much. I’ll be alright. I have a great song prepared.”

“You’re lucky, you’re going last,” Combeferre said, analyzing the schedule. “We’re second. Montparnesse actually should be preparing to go on right now.”

Grantaire walked to the side of the stage, where he was hidden by the black curtains but still had a good view of the stage. He gulped when he saw the crowd, his mom standing in the back.

Montparnesse smiled and sat, grinning as people cheered. “I’ll be singing a song called the Ballad of Mona Lisa. It’s dedicated to someone really special to me.”

Grantaire felt a chill go down his spine. Montparnesse…he really liked him. Grantaire began to sweat as the boy began strumming intensely, singing out, “ _He paints his fingers with a close precision_ _, he starts to notice empty bottles of gin. And takes a moment to assess the sin he's paid for. A lonely speaker in a conversation, his words are swimming through his ears again. There's nothing wrong with just a taste of what you've paid for…”_

The song truly was phenomenal. Montparnesse was earning the applause he was receiving. He belted out the chorus, Valjean amazed in the front row.

“ _Say what you mean, tell me I'm right, and let the sun rain down on me. Give me a sign, I want to believe…woah, Mona Lisa, you're guaranteed to run this town. Woah, Mona Lisa, I'd pay to see you frown…”_

Grantaire left, rushing backstage to find Eponine. Or Jehan. Or anyone who could tell him what was going on. Eponine gave him a knowing look, and Jehan caught him as he raced with no direction in mind.

“Everything okay? You look panicked.”

Grantaire gulped. “I’m not okay. Montparnesse…the song is about me and…”

Jehan sat him down, encouraging him to breathe slowly. “Grantaire…has anyone ever told you that you observe your own life?” He shook his head. Jehan sighed thoughtfully. “You’re a reactor. You wait for things to happen. Montparnesse makes them happen. You can’t just let things happen…if you don’t want to be involved with him, say something.” 

Grantaire nodded, breathing slowly. The applause indicated that Montparnesse was finished. Jehan looked him in the eyes. “Take control, Grantaire. Don’t let things become out of your control.”

They sat in silence, Grantaire thinking heavily until Jehan was pulled up by Courfeyrac. “Let’s go,” he smiled fondly, and Jehan looked back with equal fondness. “Combeferre is excited about the new song.”

Grantaire stood as well, planning to watch them perform. He liked their new and improved sound. It was refreshing. He watched as they geared up, smiling excitingly. Eponine appeared beside him, grinning proudly. 

“So what song are you doing today, R?” She asked.

Grantaire smiled. “You’ll see.”

His smile disappeared when he heard them start playing the song, Combeferre on lead guitar. “ _Life's too short to even care at all, oh, I'm losing my mind losing my mind losing control…”_

“That’s…” Grantaire started. “That’s my song.”

Eponine’s head whipped towards him, eyes wide. “You’re doing this song…?”

“ _If I could find a way to see this straight, I'd run away to some fortune that I, I should have found by now, I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come down, come down…”_

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah.”He paused. “How’d they get it?”

She looked down guiltily and he was full of rage. He heard footsteps behind him.

“What’s going on? Are you okay, R?” Enjolras asked, out of breath.

Grantaire spun, fuming. “Eponine gave them my song. My father’s song. He wrote that. And they’re the ones singing it.”

Enjolras frowned. “Grantaire. Your father’s song?”

The color left his face. “Yeah…my dad wrote songs…”

“And you were going to sing it?” Enjolras said slowly, getting impatient. “So you’ve been cheating?”

Grantaire started to speak, but Enjolras cut him off. “How do I know anything you’ve told me is true? Seriously. Why would you lie about this?”

He was at a loss for words. All he heard was the sound of Coffee and Cigarettes. Enjolras stared him down.

“Enjolras-” he started.

The blond shook his head. “Don’t even start.” He walked away, and Grantaire felt a lump rise in his throat.

“You’re on next,” Eponine croaked out but Grantaire just glared. “What song will you sing?”

The dark headed boy flipped open the notebook, panicking. “I haven’t practiced anything. I don’t have a new one to sing.” He flung the notebook across the stage, immediately regretting his melodrama. Enjolras picked it up, but refused to look at him. He opened it to the back and scribbled something, before tossing it back. Grantaire gaped. He had circled the title of their song they had written. It was unfinished. But it was something.

He gulped. “Can we get a piano onstage?”

 

\--- 

 

He touched the keys gently before pulling the microphone closer to his mouth. “Hi,” he said simply. “This is a Sky Full of Stars.”

He began playing, singing out, “ _'Cause you're a sky, cause you're a sky full of stars, I’m going to give you my heart…”_ He finished out the verse Enjolras had written. Then he sang his addition, “ _I don't care, go on and tear me apart_ _, I don't care if you do…'Cause in a sky, cause in a sky full of stars, I think I saw you…”_ His falsetto reverberated around the auditorium.  

Grantaire closed his eyes, singing with his whole being. He was approaching the unwritten verse of the song. He trusted his gut, singing out, “ _'Cause you're a sky, cause you're a sky full of stars, I want to die in your arms, you get lighter the more it gets dark, I'm going to give you my heart…”_

He heard gasps from backstage. He didn’t look to see who reacted. Grantaire kept playing, and he was playing well. He belted out the chorus again, tears rising in his eyes. The song was simple; the lyrics weren’t elaborate. But it was real. His feelings were real in that moment. He finished the song, vocalizing a little before taking his hands off the keys. He got a standing ovation.


	9. only love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience! This is the last full chapter then there will be an epilogue...right now I'm considering a sequel dealing with the college years!

He stumbled backstage, shaking from his emotions and the adrenaline. “Good job with the song,” Enjolras said, blue eyes downcast. Grantaire was starting to think that he had a thing for that color. “Much better than I could have done.”

And Grantaire realized. He realized that despite his opinions, the song was an embodiment of his feelings for Enjolras. Their friendship, however short it’s been, was important. Grantaire admitted he was immediately attracted to the boy, but feelings? He hadn’t planned on this. So he stood there, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. He tried to find the words, attempted to not gape at the blond like a lost puppy, but Enjolras just gave him an odd look and walked away.

Eponine was tearful as she approached R. “I didn’t think you would use that one, I was just trying to help them out, I’m sorry- “

He raised a hand, silencing her. “It’s okay.” She engulfed him in a hug, squeezing a little too tight. He felt suffocated. His breathing sped up, and he pushed her away hurriedly. Everything was fuzzy now as he kept trying to breathe. Breathe. Breathe. It wasn’t working.

“Grantaire,” she said, panicked. “What’s going on?”

Enjolras rushed over, Montparnesse behind him. “What’s happening?”

“He’s gasping for breath, and shaking, and I don’t know why,” Eponine said tearfully. “All I did was hug him.”

“Do you hear me, R?” Enjolras asked. “Can you nod?" 

But Grantaire was frozen, gasping for breath, trying to focus on anything but the present reality. “I-” he gulped. “I- “ 

“Valjean!” Montparnesse called, eyes wide. “Valjean!”

Grantaire’s vision was fuzzy, and Enjolras’ blue eyes were the last thing he saw before blacking out.

 

* * *

 

 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“He’s on fluids now,” a voice said. Grantaire tried to blink, his whole body feeling simultaneously heavy and floating. He coughed, and vision came back to him. His mom was by his side, holding his hand. 

“How are you feeling, honey?” She asked, dark circles under her eyes.

“I’m okay…” he muttered, scanning his surroundings. Bland hospital room. He was wearing a gown. He saw Eponine in the corner, sitting on a cramped couch with Montparnesse, Jehan, and Courfeyrac. Enjolras was standing with Combeferre. “Why are they here?”

His mom just smiled. “Your friends wanted to make sure you were okay. You had a panic attack. Do you remember it?”

He nodded.

The doctor, a young man, sat next to Grantaire’s bed. “Can you tell me your name?” Grantaire gulped and mumbled out his full name. The doctor nodded. “And where you are?” He complied. “And the year?” The doctor looked satisfied with the responses and wrote something on a clipboard.

His mom met eyes with the doctor and nodded. She looked at him, saying softly, “We’re going to let the psychologist speak to you in a few minutes, okay? There are some…things you need to discuss.”

Grantaire felt himself getting angry until a tearful Jehan ran and enveloped him in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispered. Grantaire felt himself relax into the hug.

“Who won?” Grantaire croaked.

Everyone laughed. Montparnesse met his eyes, grinning. “I did.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “Wow. That’s…congratulations.”

The taller boy just shrugged modestly. “You should have won.”

“You’re more marketable,” Combeferre reasoned politely. Enjolras stared him down, and Grantaire wouldn’t meet his eye. Whether it was because of the panic attack earlier or the blush rising on his cheeks, he wouldn’t admit. The tension was palpable, yet no one was entirely sure why.

“Do you need anything?” Courfeyrac asked, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Everyone stood at once, searching for an excuse to leave the room. Montparnesse and Enjolras remained, the whole situation now incredibly more uncomfortable. Grantaire sighed, locking eyes with the blonde. “I’m good,” Grantaire responded, his mouth dry.

Enjolras stood beside his bed, an unreadable expression on his face. “I was worried about you.”

“We all were,” Montparnesse added. “No one really knew what was happening.”

“It’s happened before,” he shrugged, eyes lowered. “Congratulations, Montparnesse.” 

He smiled. “Thanks. Honestly. Maybe they’ll let me feature you on a track.”

Enjolras was still standing there quietly. Grantaire cleared his throat. “Montparnesse, I’d…really like to talk to Enjolras. Alone.” Montparnesse nodded curtly, a hurt look briefly crossing his face before he exited the room. Enjolras hadn’t moved. He cleared his throat. 

“You finished the song.”

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

“Is that really how you feel about me?" 

The older boy gulped. “Yeah. It is.”

Enjolras moved quickly, leaning down and pressing his lips to R’s briefly. It was over as quickly as it had begun and Grantaire stared at him with wide eyes. “What the- “

“I like you,” Enjolras stuttered out, looking completely undone and not at all composed. “A lot. I want to- I want to give this a try. I know you’ll be off to college soon, but- “

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said softly. “I…I like you too. But I can’t right now. I just…I can’t right now.” 

The blonde boy’s face fell, absentmindedly fiddling with the edge of the blanket thrown over Grantaire. “Because of my dad.”

Grantaire grabbed his hand. “NO. No. Not because of anything to do with you. It’s me…I’m screwed up, Enjolras. I went to rehab for alcohol addiction before I was 18. My father…” He gulped. “My father was always trying to make it as musician. He hit me and he hit my mom and he left us. He died in a car accident two years ago and that’s why we moved. We moved because it was all too much at one time and it was getting so bad for me…I don’t want to drag you into my mess. I have a lot to sort out for myself.” 

Enjolras’ eyes softened. “R, I had no idea…”

“You’re the first person I’ve told, Enjolras,” Grantaire admitted. “I care about you enough to say no right now.” 

A knock on the door made the blonde boy jump. “I’ll let you be,” he mumbled as the psychologist entered the room, bright and pretty with long brown hair. 

“I’m Dr. Valjean, but you can call me Fantine,” she smiled earnestly, shaking Grantaire’s hand.

“Valjean?” Enjolras asked.

“You must know my husband and daughter,” she laughed. “She’s about your age.” 

Grantaire smiled. “Cosette is great, and very talented.” 

“I’m sorry, dear,” she referred to Enjolras, “But it’s time for Grantaire and I to have a little chat.” 

He nodded, smiling once at Grantaire before leaving the room. As Fantine sat beside his bed, he felt the overwhelming emotions fade away. He thought of his worried friends in the hospital waiting room. He thought of Montparnesse. More importantly, he thought of Enjolras. Everything would be alright. He breathed deeply, feeling the years of sadness melt away.


End file.
